Wesley Krumb

Life is pretty goddamn good for Wes. Yeah, he used to be a dork. Hell, he was the dork that the other dorks picked on. But that's all in the past. That skin problem cleared itself right up, and his asthma vanished, and what his mom used to insist was a severe photo sensitive UV allergy went the way of the dodo. Now he can bench press 450 lbs. and talk to girls and sometimes he just walks into a bar and beats the shit out of somebody who reminds him of one of the guys who used to pick on him back in high school, just for shits & giggles. Really kicks the living fuck out of them. Sometimes he busts his knuckles up really bad on their teeth. And then he laughs and laughs and laughs.

Even when some guys fight back, like that time when he almost lost an eye 'cuz the one fucker had a friend with a knife, it's so much fun that he can't believe not everyone does this every weekend.

Also, he's a lot taller than he used to be.

And he owes it all to just one little deal with the Devil.

See, the thing is, most people figure that a Hatchetman has to be really sick and miserable and pathetic in order to get a gig with a demon. Sell their soul for a few extra months where the cancer can't quite kill them, bringing damnation up to Topside in exchange for the small favor of not being dead yet. Shoving another man into the Pit to save your own skin: the definition of evil.

And to a degree, that's pretty much accurate. The quintessential hatchetman is a loner in a wrinkled coat with the stench of chemotherapy on them, a chattering figure missing a head of hair and half a jaw, clutching a wedding ring that doesn't really fit right on their finger anymore, taking orders that only they can hear.

But the truth of the matter is that Wesley Krumb had been living in Hell for a long time before he snuck Down There and made a bargain with the biggest name he could scrounge up off of Azrael Scheiss. Fuck money. Fuck political power. Fuck true love. Wes lives in a truck and owns three shirts and a gun, and he can DO ANYTHING HE WANTS.

He's the self-made hatchetman, and his new life is worth every dime of the money he borrowed and stole to make it happen. Once every six months or so, he jumps in his beat-up old Ford and drives until the voices tell him to pull over and kill somebody. Afterward, he tosses the body in the back of the truck, wrapped in a tarp, and he drives until he hits a body of water. Then he and the unfortunate mark go for a swim.

Wes can swim out for a long time. And the trip back is always lighter and easier.

The fun part is seeing if he can kill somebody without using his gun. Most of the time, he can do it bare-handed.

Sometimes, the voices tell him to run more complex errands, and that's always fun. He got to crucify a guy, once. And the rest of the time, when he's not running errands for the Big Guy Downstairs, Wes picks up chicks and picks fights and sometimes picks up a few bucks doing security detail for Azreal - he and "she" get along famously, because they're both deeply broken people playing dress-up and murder-games in the Real World.

For people in the 'Crasher community, Wesley Krumb is a dangerous enigma: he has nothing against 'Crashers, and is on semi-friendly terms with at least a few, but once he's on the scent of a mark there's just about no stopping him. And he's killed a few 'Crashers, that's for damn certain. Like most Hatchetmen, he simply doesn't give a fuck … but unlike the rest, its not born of desperation. And whatever unknown demon he bought his power from, the kid picked a potent sponsor. He has the mind of a rage-filled, vengeance-fueled adolescent in the body of an early '80s Schwarzenegger with a surfer-vibe. He's the kid from Columbine playing on God-Mode. He hits like a mac-truck and he smiles like a young, blond Mel Gibson.

Wild rumor says that he's actually bullet-proof, but more conservative
'Crashers theorize that he's just made of harder stuff than most people and knows some weird trick for healing faster when he sleeps.

The sick joke of it is that Wes traded his immortal soul, a secret otherwise known only to the one demon that Azreal stole it from, and a lifetime of murderous servitude for good-looks and a body in the 99.999th percentile of physical fitness. Okay, maybe make that the 101st percentile. But the point is this: he's headed for a big downfall and a whole lot of suffering once his heels hit the Hot Spot again. If life is good for Wes, you can be assured that death will be quite awful indeed.

But until that day, there are pockets of 'Crashers trading rumors about who Wesley Krumb picked off last, and why, and who his next target might be, and who, for the love of god, he's actually working for.

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